Curtis and Edgar, initial treatment and visiting hours

[simon_doctor]

It's been a rough day for Curtis and Edgar. Fortunately, the Milliways infirmary is definitely set up to handle hypothermia and exposure.

[Icon above notwithstanding, Simon Tam is not actually appearing in this thread.]

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

He tries to lift his head, grimaces, sinks back down. "Bit shite."

A beat.

"You?"

[2goodarms]

"Definitely like shit."

He shrugs his shoulders, manages to pin one corner of the blanket with his barely-functional hand, and drags it closer.

"Least we got inside."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah."

He can't seem to take his eyes off Curtis's face.

[2goodarms]

After a beat's hesitation, Curtis lifts his chin toward the pile of heating packs.

"Your feet doing okay?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah, they feel better." He's trying for nonchalance, but his gaze slips away from Curtis's face when he says it.

[2goodarms]

That wouldn't be subtle even if he hadn't known Edgar since he was a baby.

All Curtis does is nod, though, and drop his own gaze as he mumbles, "Okay."

[hate_gettin_older]

"How about your ... everything?"

He wants it to be a joke. It isn't.

[2goodarms]

"I'm all right."

Adding my hand's a little fucked up won't help. It's not a permanent enough kind of fucked-up to be worth mentioning.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Good."

That much talking feels like a lot of work; he lets his eyes drift closed again for a moment.



"How'd we get here? I thought we were dead."

[2goodarms]

"Rescue party," he mumbles. "Dejah, um..."

His attention drifts to her for a moment, then returns to Edgar.

"She got a bunch of people together."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar blinks.

"Oh."

And all he can think is: he owes her now.

[2goodarms]

He nods.

And...can't think of anything else to say.

Curtis shifts the blanket again, just enough to peek at his right hand.

[hate_gettin_older]

Low: "You din't have to come out there after me."

[2goodarms]

"You gonna give me shit if I say 'yeah, I did?'"

No louder.

[hate_gettin_older]

"You could've died."

It's exhaustion that's pulling tears up into his eyes again.

"Like if you hadn't found me, if you got caught out there by yourself --"

[2goodarms]

"If I hadn't, you definitely would've died."

Curtis keeps his head bowed, but studying his fingers is just a pretense.

"You could barely walk."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar swallows.

"All that -- all that shite I said to you --"

[2goodarms]

"Don't, man." Weariness creeps back into his voice.

Not like I didn't deserve it. Not like it wasn't penance, in some twisted way: hearing all his sins rattled off without a shred of forgiveness.

[hate_gettin_older]

He squeezes one hand shut, under the blanket, feels his nails dig into his palm. Fixes his eyes on the shadows under Curtis's bed.

"I meant it."

[2goodarms]

Curtis closes his eyes.

Nods, in resigned confirmation, without a word.

[hate_gettin_older]

"But I --" His voice is unsteady. "I din't ever want to say any of it."

[2goodarms]

He hitches one shoulder, still not looking up.

"Probably for the best you did."

His voice isn't flat. It's just...empty. Too tired to care anymore.

[hate_gettin_older]

His throat hurts.

"Doesn't feel like it."

[2goodarms]

"I was fucking terrified when they handed you off to me."

No eye contact. No change in tone.

"Probably took three months to get over that. Finally started changing to...maybe if I did okay with just this one thing, out of all the other shit going on, that'd make up for it. As long as I didn't fuck this up I'd be okay."

Curtis shakes his head, heavy, ponderous.

"'Cept I'd already permanently fucked everything up. There's no fixing that. If nothing else I probably should've stopped trying when you finished growing up."

[hate_gettin_older]

And why those last few words, of all things, should make his eyes start burning again --



"When d'you figure that was, then?"